


Scorching Hot And Full Of Snot

by decadent_mousse



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, Sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 03:03:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decadent_mousse/pseuds/decadent_mousse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With some difficulty, Newton pushed himself up into a sitting position and grabbed his glasses off the nightstand.  He snatched the thermometer out of Hermann’s hand.  “Let me see that.  That’s–  Okay, that’s pretty high, but not, like, brain-melting high.  I’m okay, dude.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scorching Hot And Full Of Snot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ClassyFangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClassyFangirl/gifts).



> I'm one of the rare, fortunate souls that rarely actually gets the flu, so most of my knowledge of flu care came screwing around on the internet, and so did Hermann's, so... any errors I might've made in that regard, you can just blame on him instead of me! ;)
> 
> I'm dedicating this one to ClassyFangirl. Newt wearing Hermann's sweaters is entirely her fault. *shakes fist*

Hermann stared at the thermometer.  “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

Newton groaned into his pillow.

“I will drag you to the car if I have to.”

With some difficulty, Newton pushed himself up into a sitting position and grabbed his glasses off the nightstand.  He snatched the thermometer out of Hermann’s hand.  “Let me see that.  That’s–  Okay, that’s pretty high, but not, like, _brain-melting_ high.  I’m okay, dude.”

Hermann might’ve found that a bit more reassuring if Newton’s arms hadn’t been visibly shaking with the effort of keeping himself upright.  “Yes, of course, how foolish of me.  Clearly, you’re the picture of perfect health.”

“Hermann, you’re overreacting.  You are really, _really_ overreacting.  I mean, I feel kind of–  Yeah, okay, I feel like crap, but it’s not like I’m dying.”

Hermann had woken up with Newton’s arms wrapped around him, feeling so uncomfortably warm that at first he had thought _he_ was the one with the fever.  Then he had realized the burning heat was radiating from the body pressed against him.  Newton had been – and still was – suffering from an extremely high fever.  Hermann didn’t think he was overreacting – thirty-nine degrees was not “okay.”  Thirty-nine degrees was borderline _catastrophic._

“Get dressed.”

Newt stared at him.  “Are you serious?”

“Yes, Newton, I am _serious_.”

“…Can we at least have breakfast first?”

Hermann glared at him.

~

Newton chewed angrily on a half-frozen pancake.  “I can’t believe you seriously dragged me to the emergency room over a little thing like a fever.”

“It is not _little_ fever, Newton.  You were one degree away from hyperpyrexia when I checked last, and God only knows what your temperature might be now.”

“’Hyperpyrexia?’  Seriously?  That’s it, no more WebMD for you.”

“This is not a _joke_.”

Newt glared at him.  “You’re right, waking me up from a dead sleep and dragging me out of bed at five in the morning and driving _halfway across town_ isn’t a joke – it’s a pain in the ass.”

“You’ll thank me when you’re not suffering brain-damaging seizures.”

“Oh my God, is _that_ what this is about?”

Hermann crossed his arms over his chest.  “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I thought we were way, _way_ past this.  Damn it, Hermann.  You know the whole ‘over-protective, concerned boyfriend’ thing was kinda cute back then in a neurotic sort of way – now it’s just fucking annoying.”

That stung quite a bit, but Hermann did his best to keep his expression neutral.  “I’m so terribly sorry that my concern is inconvenient for you, Newton.”

Newton just made an aggravated noise and stared a painting on the wall.

They didn’t speak to each other for the rest of their stay in the waiting room.  Eventually, a doctor saw to Newton, told him to get plenty of rest and to stay hydrated and that the fever – while a bit on the high side – would probably go down just fine on its own, and then dismissed him without further comment.   

They didn’t speak to each other on the way back home, either.  Hermann wanted to say something – he even considered apologizing, even though he didn’t feel he’d done anything wrong – but every time he glanced at Newton the angry scowl on his face made the words die in his throat. 

~

“Is that my sweater?”

Newt laid his cheek on the makeshift pillow formed by his arms and the fuzzy sleeves of what Hermann was absolutely positive was one of _his_ sweaters.  The sleeves were too long for him, such that they continued on well past the tips of his fingers, and it looked _ridiculous_ and not at all charming.  “No, I raided some other closet full of dorky sweaters.”

“You should notbe wearing that,” Hermann said sternly.

“I was cold.”

“You have a _fever_ , Newton.  A _dangerously_ high fever that is _not_ helped by wearing that.”

“Dude, bite me,” he grumbled.  “You wanted me to sleep, but I _couldn’t_ sleep, and you wouldn’t let me have any fucking blankets, so I grabbed one of your stupid sweaters.  It makes me feel better, okay?”

“I fail to see how.  If anything, you’ll be feeling worse if your fever starts climbing again, which it likely will with you wearing _that_.”

Newton half-buried his face in the wooly fabric and mumbled something Hermann couldn’t quite make out.

“What?”

Newt glared, or at least attempted to – the effect was lessened somewhat with only one eye visible, and he doubted he could see him very well at this distance without his glasses.  “I said, ‘It smells like you.’  It’s _nice_ , okay?  A hell of a lot nicer than you’ve been today.”

“Newton, I took you to the _hospital_ , I made you lunch, I’ve been checking in on you at regular intervals–“

“Yeah, and aside from that, you’ve been avoiding me like I have the plague.  And yeah, thanks for the completely unnecessary trip to the ER, by the way, that was the highlight of my morning – it really was.  I mean, who _doesn’t_ love sitting in a waiting room for a fucking hour and a half at the butt-crack of dawn?  You know what, just– just go away.  Leave me alone.  God forbid I give you _cooties_ , though here’s a little FYI: we’re constantly breathing the same air, so you probably already have them.  Suck on _that_ , babe.” 

Hermann gaped at him.

Newt huffed angrily and rolled over, facing the back of the couch and leaving Hermann to stare dumbfoundedly at his back. 

“Newton–“ 

“I’m serious, dude.  Leave me alone.”

Hermann walked over to the couch with a sigh.  “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care.”

“Will you please look at me?”

“No.”

Hermann sat on the edge of the couch.  Newt actively recoiled from him – silently tucking his legs up and away from Hermann’s position – and in some ways that stung worse than the harsh words.  They remained that way for a couple minutes in tense silence.

“Are you just going to keep sitting there?”

“Yes.”

“That can’t be comfortable.”

“It isn’t.”

“Damn it, Hermann.”

Newt sat up, cheeks flushed, his eyes looking damper and puffier than could be attributed solely to flu symptoms. 

Hermann felt his throat constrict, “Newton–“

He sniffed and wiped at his eyes with the edge of a sweater sleeve.  “Don’t.”

“Will you come here, please?” 

Newton  scooted closer and laid his head in his lap.  The reflex to run his hands through his hair was so automatic he didn’t realize he was even doing it until Newt made a soft noise.

“Feels nice,” Newt muttered.

A fond smile tugged its way onto Hermann’s face.

“I’m a jerk.” 

“You’re not feeling well.  It’s alright.” 

Newton still felt too warm for his liking, but the fever seemed to have died down somewhat.  Hermann still didn’t think the sweater was a particularly good idea, even though he did have to grudgingly admit that it didn’t look _entirely_ unattractive on the other man.

“Besides,” Hermann said, feeling a pang of guilt, “you… have a point.”

Newton snorted, or at least tried to, but nasal congestion made it backfire and he ended up coughing instead.  “Wait, what?  Sorry, I think I maybe hallucinated for a second there.  Did you just say I was _right_?”

“No, I said you had a _point_.  Which– Fine, yes, you were right.”  Hermann sighed.  “I knew you were aggravated with me this morning – I wanted to give you peace and quiet, and a comfortable space to recuperate.  I never meant for you to feel as though I didn’t–“ 

“You’re my comfy space, Hermann,” Newt said sleepily.  “You and your dorky sweaters.”

“I… realize I may have overreacted earlier.  I meant well.”

Newton patted him softly on the leg.  “I know, dude.  I know.  I felt like crap and I said… I said a lot of things that I really regret saying now.”  In a joking tone, he added, “You still love me, right?”

“Always.”

“Good.  Good, me too.  Love _you_ , I mean.”

They sat there silently for awhile before Hermann felt brave enough to broach the subject that continued to nag at his mind.  “Will you _please_ take off that sweater?”

“Man, you keep trying to get me out of my clothes.  I’m _sick_ , dude.”

“Firstly, it is _my_ sweater.  Secondly, I can assure you my intentions are pure.”

“Yeah, that’s what they all say, then next thing you know everyone’s naked and you can’t find your pants.”

“ _Newton_.“

“Okay!  Geez, fine.”

He wriggled around and – in a remarkable display of flexibility, especially given his current condition – somehow managed to shrug out of the sweater without ever sitting up.  Underneath, he was wearing a threadbare t-shirt that looked like it had been washed thirty times too many.  He wadded the sweater up and held it against his chest like a child clinging to a stuffed animal.

“I’m holding onto this,” he said, in a tone that dared Hermann to say otherwise.

“By all means.”

It was a sweet, tender moment that was only slightly tarnished when Newt got up and ran to the bathroom to throw up three minutes later.

~

The next day, Newton’s fever had gone down enough that Hermann decided to let him have free reign of the blanket situation – especially after Newton told him that his fever could get worse if he got the chills, and Hermann didn’t know enough about the inner workings of the human body to dispute it.  Once Newton had gotten settled in the living room, Hermann had gone to his study to get some work done.  He had left Newt in a nest of blankets and tissues on the couch, equipped with a bowl of soup and a DVD of Godzilla vs. MechaGodzilla.  He had also absconded with another of Hermann’s sweaters, but Hermann allowed it. 

After he’d finished watching the movie, Newton had wandered into the study, holding a pillow in one hand and a blanket in the other.  That was how he had ended up sprawled out on Hermann’s recliner, blanket pulled up around his shoulders and hugging his pillow, his face pressed into it.  He was also snoring rather loudly.

Hermann had protested, saying that he was trying to get work done and that if Newton made too much noise he would have absolutely no qualms whatsoever in sending him to _bed_ , but – and he would never, ever admit this – he was actually pleased to have him there, so his protests were half-hearted at best.  He wouldn’t have thought the raucous sound of his boyfriend’s _snoring_ would be conducive to a pleasant working environment, but he actually felt more productive with Newton in the room – no doubt their long years of shared working space had ruined him, in that regard. 

They spent a fair amount of the day like that: Hermann scribbling away at his chalkboard and Newton more or less sleeping the whole time – shifting around on the recliner once in awhile and occasionally mumbling something incoherent. 

When he finally decided it was time for a break, Hermann walked over to where Newton lay.  The recliner was something of a behemoth and though it hadn’t been something he had considered when he’d purchased it, it looked like it could probably accommodate two people. 

“Newton.”

No response.

“ _Newton_.”  He was trying to avoid raising his voice too loudly.

“Mmm?”  Newton’s eyes didn’t even open and there was no clear indication that he was actually aware of his surroundings, but it was progress.

“I thought perhaps I could… join you?”

Newt’s eyelids cracked open, just barely.  “C’mere,” he croaked.

Well, then.

Newt scooted over to make a bit more room and Hermann sat beside him.  Once he laid back, he quickly found himself enveloped in the blanket.  The pillow briefly stood between them before Newt grabbed it and tossed it away, then he pressed himself against Hermann’s side.  He was warm, but not unpleasantly so. 

“What time is it?” Newt asked, nuzzling Hermann’s shoulder and still sounding more asleep than awake.

“A little after six.”

“In the morning?”

“No, Newton, the evening.  It’s the evening.”  It probably said something about how soundly Newton had been asleep if he seriously thought he had slept for eighteen hours instead of six.

“Hmm.”

“Are you hungry?  I could make dinner.”

“Not really.  Feeling kind of… sloshy.”  Suddenly, he sounded considerably more aware.  “Are _you_ hungry?  I could–“

“Absolutely not.”

“Tonight was supposed to be spaghetti night.  I was gonna make spaghetti, and it was gonna be awesome.  I was gonna try that thing I saw on the Food Network with the meatballs and–”

“That was before you came down with a debilitating flu, Newton.”

“Pfft.  Debilitating,” he scoffed, but he already sounded like he was drifting off again.

He flung his arm across Hermann’s chest – or at least attempted to, mostly he only succeeded in smacking Hermann in the face with the flopping edge of a too-long sweater sleeve.  Hermann grabbed him gently by the wrist and relocated his arm to a position less likely to result in more face-smacking.  He decided that if Newton’s sweater phase lasted much longer, he was probably going to have to break down and go buy him some of his own.  Ones that, God forbid, actually fit him properly.

~

By the end of the week, Newton was almost completely recovered from his bout of the flu.  Much to Newton’s amusement and Hermann’s dismay that was also roughly around the time Hermann started sneezing uncontrollably and developed a low-grade fever. 

“I don’t know, Hermann,” Newton said, a worryingly mischievous grin spreading across his face.  “You’re not looking too good, dude.  Maybe I should rush you to the hospital.  You know, _just in case_.”

Hermann groaned into his pillow.


End file.
